I decided to set the first story aside because I am frustrated with it. This is the beginning of something. Not sure what yet, but something…

As I drove down the road shaded by towering trees, I couldn’t help but smile. Early fall was the best time of year in New Mexico. Warm days, cool nights, the smell of roasting chile on the air. I chose the best time to come back this way, even though the season had never crossed my mind.

I turned onto a dirt road that wound around past a huge old cottonwood and an adobe house with no glass in the windows. Someone had been keeping this road up, it was smoother than the pavement I just left. A mile down the road, I came to the turn in to my destination: an antique mobile home park. Just inside the entrance sat several rusted out cars. I took a right turn and drove past several 70s vintage mobile homes. I pulled up beside a faded red and white house surrounded by chain link and dirt bikes.

He came out to the porch before I had even shut down the engine. He just stood there and watched as I shut down and climbed out of my dusty old RV and walked to the gate.